A Pondering . . .

An offering from Gerald May:
Peace is not something you can force on anything or anyone... much less upon one's own mind.
It is like trying to quiet the ocean by pressing upon the waves.
Sanity lies in somehow opening to the chaos, allowing anxiety, moving deeply into the tumult, diving into the waves, where underneath, within, peace simply is.

Spirit Energy . . .Fiery Presence!

Photo courtesy of Doris Klein, CSA

Spirit! Power and Passion of my being,
press upon my heart your profound love.
Move through the fragments of my days;
Enable me to sense your fiery Presence
consecrating my most insignificant moments.

Spirit! Source of Vision, Perceptive Guide,
permeate the moments of my choices
when falsehood and truth both call to me.
Turn me toward the way of goodness,
so that I will always lean toward your love.

Spirit! Blessing for the heart grown weary,
encircle me with your loving energy,
empower me with your active gentleness.
Deepen within me a faith in your dynamism
which strengthens the weak and the tired.

Spirit! Breath of Life, Touch of Mystery,
You are the ribbon of inner connection,
uniting me with the groaning of all creation.
Because of you, my life gathers into a oneness.
Keep me attentive to this interdependence.
Fill my being with a constant compassion
and a deep hope that knows no bounds.

Spirit! Dwelling Place, Sanctuary of Silence,
You are the home for which I deeply yearn.
You are the resting place for which I long.
I find both comfort and challenge in you.
Grant that I may keep my whole self open
to the transforming power of your indwelling,
that I may ever know the blessing
of your tremendous companionship.
- Joyce Rupp/Out of the Ordinary

A Dad's Day Reflection

A Box Full of Kisses!
The story goes that some time ago, a man punished his 3-year old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper.  Money was tight and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree. Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, “This is for you, Daddy.”

The man was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found out the box was empty. He yelled at her, stating, “Don’t you know when you give someone a present, there is supposed to be something inside?” The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and cried, “Oh, Daddy, it’s not empty at all. I blew kisses into the box. They’re all for you, Daddy.”

The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little girl, and he begged her forgiveness.

Only a short time later, an accident took the life of the child. It is also told that her father kept the gold wrapped box by his bed for many years and, whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.

(Author’s comment):
In a very real sense, each one of us, as human beings, has been given a gold container filled with unconditional love and kisses . . . from our children, family members, friends, and God.  There is simply no other possession, anyone could hold, more precious than this.         

http://onlineministries.creighton.edu/CollaborativeMinistry/Fathers/                                          

Touched to the core . . .

I am touched to the core
with a presence I cannot explain
A loving plan enfolds me
Someone is always believing in me
calling me forth, calling me on
I am standing in grace
filled with mystery
touched with the eternal
I cannot get away from goodness
I think we name you God.
You surround me like a gentle breeze
My idols live on in my life
My inconsistent values stay
My immaturity walks besides me
My sin is ever before me
Your love for me stays the same
I tremble in the face of such graciousness
Your reverence for me astounds me
You breathe out hope
and I catch on …

Macrina Wiederkehr
Seasons of Your Heart

A Journey of Miles

A Spiritual Journey

And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles,
no matter how long,
but only by a spiritual journey,
a journey of one inch,
very arduous and humbling and joyful,
by which we arrive at the ground at our feet,
and learn to be at home.

~ Wendell Berry ~
 

Happiness

Several Times in the Last Week
by  Hafiz

Ever since Happiness heard your name,
It has been running through the streets
Trying to find you.
And several times in the last week,
God has even come to my door –
Asking me for your address!

Once I said,
“God,
I thought You knew everything.
Why are You asking me
Where Your lovers live?”
And the Beloved replied,
Indeed, I do know Everything –
But it is fun playing dumb once in a while.
And I love intimate chat
And the warmth of your heart’s fire.

Maybe we should make this poem into a song –
I think it has potential!
How does this refrain sound,
For I know it is a Truth:
Ever since Happiness heard your name,
It has been running through the streets
Trying to find you.

And several times in the last week,
God has come to my door –
So sweetly asking for your address,
Wanting the beautiful warmth of your heart’s fire.

I Heard God Laughing –
Renderings of Hafiz
By Daniel Ladinsky

Welcome to Summer!

The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan,            
and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of               
up and down,
who is gazing around with her enormous and                  
complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly   
washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention,                                       
how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

~ Mary Oliver